


Cherry Blossom.

by 1991ft1994



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Sweet Fluff, art student!Niall, artstudent!Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3083867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1991ft1994/pseuds/1991ft1994
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my story and Zayn’s, of two misunderstood artists wandering in search of more and more intense shades of life.<br/>This is the story of “Love, what are you doing?”, of a “Nothing, just writing down our memories.”<br/>Of a “Remember that we don’t have much time.” And of an “I’m coming.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry Blossom.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> It's K here! :)  
> I'm Italian and that's my first work I've ever posted here so I'm a little bit nervous.  
> I decided to write a short OS Ziall and I don't even know why because I'm not so sure about these two!  
> I always post in an italian forum Larry fanfics and stuff like that.  
> That's all, hope you like this little piece of nothing.  
> I'm on twitter if you want to lemme know what do you think about the OS.  
> I'm _thatbluebox :)
> 
> Love you,  
> K.

 

_ Cherry Blossom. _

 

“I could not feel the colours as something real, something that could define me as a person, something that could make me reach the peak of happiness, pleasure or sadness.  
Then he came around and I am not gonna lie, he showed me all of the colours, at first all at once, then slowly, through his hands, his touches, and then with his voice that lulled me to sleep.  
My best friend used to tell me that a good color matching can change your life and I’ve always made fun of her for that, for that madness. How could colours make you a winner?  
He then showed me everyday of our life together that I don’t have to match colours, don’t have to wear them: Zayn taught me to become a colour and, when I needed it, all of the colours together.

  
He taught me to be black and white.  
And he brought us to black making me feel all of the shades of white, because he had always told me that white had shades: “they’re all in your head, your head is a colour palette: create them, Niall, create them with me.”  
And that was how he won me over, because before I didn’t like him at all, or maybe I liked him completely and I wouldn’t want to admit it.  
When I saw him smiling there, in front of that white canvas, when I watched him stained by those lively colours and color his palette applying a light and then stronger pressure, I wished I could be his palette, with whom he could do whatever he wanted, colour me of all the colours he liked best.  
When he had finished his canvas and I was showering in the bathroom, that was when we had our first contact: with his hands still stained in red paint he came to me quietly and entered the shower where I was relaxing, closed eyed, thinking about him.  
When I felt a warm body behind me and legs against mine I understood it was him and it was confirmed when he whispered “I need to clear my thoughts” and I answered “Go on then.”  
When he made me open my eyes because I felt his erection against my leg I knew I wanted it, too, I wanted to feel his colours, all of them.  
And quietly, like dancing in the rain, a mellow and seducing dance, but naked and to lay all our cards.  
That was the first time we were together and I understood the colours were something amazing and feeling them was just as well.  
Often, when we were feeling in the mood, Zayn came to me, I took off his paint stained shirt and glasses and he turned me in his personal canvas, drawing thousands of curves on my body, broken lines, but he quickly grew bored and still stained we made love.  
Because making love was feeling and making the other feel all of the colours, sex was making them feel only one.”

  
This is my story, the story of how, five years ago, it all started and I started to feel Zayn, the colours and the whole world.  
This is my story, the story of a hopeless art student and his older roommate who taught him how to get good grades in drawing, showing him how it’s done.  
This is my story and Zayn’s, of two misunderstood artists wandering in search of more and more intense shades of life.  
This is the story of “Love, what are you doing?”, of a “Nothing, just writing down our memories.”  
Of a “Remember that we don’t have much time.” And of an “I’m coming.”


End file.
